It’s getting harder and harder to remember what it was like being younger. The memories are starting to be selective. This was always one of my fears when I was younger. I remember consciously writing pages in my diary, feelings that would make me remember how it was really like so my older self would never forget some of the pain as well as the joy.
Sometimes, age brings you to a place that’s grown calloused to strong emotions, esp. those feelings of excitement and risk. As members of the older society, you’ve had enough with youth’s uncertainties that you cling to the comfort of stability, as not to feel anxiety and fear anymore. You’d rather live in what is known, and after living so many years in that condition, those once strong emotions that you once had tend to simmer to a mere contentedness. Then those memories you once had start becoming mere pictures and images rather than real emotion provoking moments, moments when you can remember what it actually felt like at that elapsed moment.
Working with people who are younger makes it imperative to remember how those moments felt like, and not just remember it in a general sense. I think it’s because they need someone to relate to instead of someone telling them what to do.
So here’s how I feel today.
I wish time went slower, or maybe I wish there was more time. I wish there was more time to be with Perze aside from his work, so we can go out with our kids and really enjoy memories together. I wish I could bottle what it’s like to be with my children. I wish I could remember their smell or their voices, things I know will change without my permission or knowledge. The slow fade will only render me helpless one day and I’ll wish they were young again, when I could read them and understand how I can meet their needs- when I could meet their needs instead of someone else. One day, I won’t suffice to them. My hugs won’t suffice. I wish time went slower so this season of my hugs is sufficient.